


breathe it in

by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Post Finale, Scents & Smells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 06:24:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10679541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: Post finale angst drabble, based around Quentin smoking at the end.The first time he sees the cigarettes, he’s sitting on the couch in the cottage, feeling himself fading away almost like he had in the fictional mental ward. Part of him wonders if Penny’s going to pop up here as well. Of course, he doesn’t, because magic is dead - Penny might very well be too, for all he knows - and it’s Quentin’s fault.Even when he does the right thing, he fucks everything up.





	breathe it in

The first time he sees the cigarettes, he’s sitting on the couch in the cottage, feeling himself fading away almost like he had in the fictional mental ward. Part of him wonders if Penny’s going to pop up here as well. Of course, he doesn’t, because magic is dead - Penny might very well be too, for all he knows - and it’s Quentin’s fault. 

Even when he does the right thing, he fucks everything up. 

He takes a deep breath, and that’s when his eyes land on the coffee table. A small smile forms on his lips as he unwraps his arms from around him and reaches to grab the pack of cigarettes. They’re Eliot’s. He remembers taking him to the store the day after his banishment because, “Daddy has some catching up to do, Q. If I’m stuck here, I’m stuck here in style.” He chuckles at the memory, and flips the top of the pack open. 

It’s not a gentle smell, tobacco. And before he’d met Eliot, Quentin didn’t like it. He had the occasional stress smoke - in that when Jules was cramming for finals and smoking, and he was too stressed to not, he admitted the occasional cigarette - but he’d never really gotten used to the smell until Eliot strutted into his life. And then, it was all he smelled. 

Even when Eliot was stuck in Fillory, the smokey scent was stuck everywhere, like all of existence wanted to remind him that Eliot was alive and okay, and that they’d see each other again. A familiar scent that reminded him he wasn’t alone. Eliot was just a portal away. 

The small smile falls as he pulls one of the cigarettes out, and runs his finger along the edges of it. It brings him back to that first day. To every day, really. To the big moments, and the small. To Eliot’s break down when he went through six packs in a week. To the day after the threesome, when his senses were overloaded on the scent of tobacco and something else that, to this day, he still can’t describe or duplicate.

There aren’t any lighters in the cottage. They used magic to light cigarettes. 

So, Quentin throws on a pair of shoes, too big, too nice for anything in his own wardrobe, and makes a rushed trip to the convenience store - which is closer now that the wards were down. And before he knows it, he’s back home - though, can he really call this place home anymore? His heart hasn’t felt at ease since he returned - sitting on the back patio. He lights the cigarette, and is rushed with a small comfort. 

His rolling stomach calms, and he relaxes back into the patio chair. His eyes close of their own accord, and he can almost feel himself fall back into that day. The sun shining down on them both, bright and luminous, and Eliot watching him, like he’s a new toy he doesn’t quite understand. Before they were Quentin and Eliot, and were familiar strangers that were learning to care for one another. When Eliot let Quentin in on a piece of himself that, he later learned, so very few people were allowed to see. 

“What I’m saying is, you are not alone here.” 

And as long as he’s got this cigarette between his lips, Quentin allows himself to believe that if he opens his eyes, Eliot will be sititng there, watching him with that faux cold coolness, a smile at the corner of his lips, and a quip ready to be fired off.


End file.
